


The Last Name

by MdmUnderhill



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MdmUnderhill/pseuds/MdmUnderhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened the day the impressed sailor William Manderly became the pirate Billy Bones</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Name

The decks above thundered with the crashing footsteps and shouts of the pirates as they boarded the ship. No one had recognized the ship's banner, a skeleton holding a cutlass in one hand and an hourglass in the other. When it had become clear they couldn't outrun her, the captain had ordered all hands down into the hold alongside the cargo, to attempt an ambush. The captain and his officers claimed this to be their best chance at surviving this encounter. They were a small crew, and didn't have the numbers to fight the pirates off. None of the sailors onboard the _Assurance_ had much experience fighting, anyway.

Crouching among his shipmates, Billy kept his eyes shut tight, praying for the end of the ordeal to come soon. His stomach churned, and for once he was glad that he never really got enough to eat, as he thought if his stomach had been full, he would most likely be sick. His hands were gripped painfully tight around the rifle resting across his knees. He had tried to tell the old boatswain to give it to someone else, that he didn't even know how to shoot. The man had grunted and said, "Yeh ain't th'only one. Jus' point th'end with the hole innit away from yer, and pray fer the best." Billy twisted his neck to look behind his shoulder, and saw Captain MacGregor, sweating and twitching with every thump above them as he swung his gaze between the deck above and the hold door. MacGregor must have felt the weight of Billy's eyes on him, and the man's eyes swiveled around to meet his. Billy had always done his best to avoid the captain's eye. He had learned long ago that keeping his own eyes down helped keep the captain from paying him much mind. For the first time in a long time, Billy did not look away. Another crash above, and the captain jerked his gaze back up to the deck. Still watching the man, Billy found himself hoping he could at least live long enough to see the pirates kill him.

As soon as he thought it, Billy felt ashamed, and looked away. Billy's father had always told him there was never any excuse for violence, that he should forgive those that trespassed against him, that in hurting others they did more damage to their own everlasting soul than they ever could to him. Now, looking at the man who had stolen so much from him, Billy found he didn't give a _fuck_ about how damaged MacGregor's soul was. He wanted him to _hurt_. What's more, there was a part of him that wanted to be the one to _make_ him hurt.

MacGregor had been the one leading the press gang that day at the docks. Billy had been just shy of sixteen, handing out pamphlets advertising a Levellers meeting for his father, when MacGregor and his men had come upon him. They grabbed him in the dark, beaten him unconscious, and he'd woken up a day later on this stinking ship. That had been well over three years ago now, and Billy's life had become a living hell ever since. For the first few weeks, he had been starved and beaten regularly, until MacGregor had decided Billy had accepted his fate to be a sailor on the _Assurance_ for as long the captain saw fit. The captain and his officers still singled men out for floggings on occasion, though it had been some time since Billy had been subjected to one. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that in the three years he'd been sailing, he had grown like a weed, piling on muscle from hauling soggy rope and canvas everyday, and was now the tallest man on the crew to boot. MacGregor and his officers preferred to single out the men they knew they could beat, the older, weaker sailors. Aside from them, the only men that got pulled down were those that didn't know how to keep their mouths shut. Billy had learned early on that if he _looked_ beaten, and completed his work without argument, the captain more or less left him alone. What really terrified him was how little he had to act at it anymore.

The crashing above them had stopped. The only sounds were the creaks and moans of the ship, and the echoing sloshes of water lapping at her sides. His pulse began racing when he heard boots on the steps into the hold, and he gripped his rifle harder. All the sailors were looking around now; up at the decks above them, to the door, at each other. The tension in the hold was excruciating. The boatswain caught Billy's eye for a moment, and grimaced a little, in what Billy thought might have been an attempted smile. Billy's lips twitched in response. He had only been made the boatswain's mate a few days ago, but the man had always been decent to him. He was an old man, hard and grizzled, and had gray eyes, the same shade as Billy's mother and brothers back home. Behind them, the captain raised his arm, signaling the sailors to make ready to fire. They all knew what would happen next. The door would either be beaten down or blown off, and the demons outside would come streaming in, trailing fire and chaos after them. Billy held his breath, waiting for the explosive sound.

It didn't come. Instead, a man's voice rang out. "Crew of the _Assurance_! We have no quarrel with you! You never asked for this fight! Our fight is with England, not you! If you surrender, no one has to die today! If you try to resist us, all of you will die! Surrender, and you can be free men once again!"

Billy forced himself to breathe. He looked to his right, at the boatswain, whose eyes were wide as he stared at the door. He saw another sailor lick his lips, and more men shifted their weight uneasily. The pirates wouldn't wait long for an answer. He turned his gaze left again, back to MacGregor. "It-- it's a trick!" he stammered. His eyes were wild as he saw all the crew staring at him. "They are _pirates_ , for God's sake!" The captain looked from man to man, and when he saw none of them look away, sneered. "Fools! They're trying to trick you, so they can kill you without a fight! They'll kill us all!" The men continued to stare in silence.

The boatswain stood up. Billy could hear his joints pop and crack as he straightened. It was as if time slowed down as he watched the old man rise, looking over at the captain. Billy found himself remembering how the man had snuck him a bit of hardtack once, when he was still being starved, years ago. "I ain't dying fer the likes of you," the boatswain said, his voice quiet. "Not if there's even a chance I don' have to." He turned towards the door.

The gunshot was deafening. Billy's ears rang with the absence of sound for a moment after the blast. The boatswain crumpled to the planks in front of Billy. His gray eyes were only half open now, and blood began to spread in a pool under him. Billy stared at the man, his throat feeling very tight. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly, now. The boatswain mouthed something weakly, but Billy couldn't make it out. Thinking about how the man's last words would never be known made Billy grit his teeth. The other sailors pressed against each other, scuttling as far away from both the body and the captain as they could. MacGregor dropped the smoking pistol, and seized another from the belt of the first mate, who was almost stepping on the man to his left to get away from the captain. MacGregor swung his arm and the pistol wildly around him. "Anyone else?!" he roared. No one moved. It seemed as if no one even breathed. Sailors dropped their eyes, one by one. MacGregor's chest was heaving as he looked from man to man, gauging their responses. "Good," he panted. "Good. When they come back--"

Billy stood up, the rifle hanging by its barrel in one hand, forgotten. He was still staring at the dead boatswain. The other men immediately began shuffling away from him, even climbing on top of barrels in their attempts to get as far away from both him and the captain as possible. Ripping his eyes away from the corpse, Billy looked at the captain, feeling three years of suppressed rage and pain and fear begin to boil inside him. Billy squared his shoulders, and turned slowly, meeting the captain's gaze. MacGregor aimed his pistol at him, eyes narrowed, panting hard. "Stand down, Manderly!" Billy could see spittle flying from his lips as he shouted. He pulled the pistol's hammer back. "I swear to God, Manderly, I will kill you," the captain hissed. "Stand. Down."

Billy took a step. MacGregor squeezed the trigger, and Billy didn't even blink as the hammer fell. Everything around him still felt so slow, as if the air around him had turned to mud he had to slog through. The gun clicked uselessly. Eyes widening, the captain tried the pistol again, but there was only the metallic click. Billy blinked, and suddenly time was rushing faster than ever. MacGregor's eyes widened, and he dropped the pistol, frantically pulling at his belt to free his sword.

Snarling, Billy closed the distance between, only a few long strides, swinging the rifle like a club. All he could hear now was his own blood roaring in his ears. Billy lost his grip on the rifle as it connected, and the captain staggered with the blow, dropping the blade. Billy stepped with him, bringing up a fist to punch MacGregor in the gut. Winded, the captain fell backwards, and Billy fell on top of him, grabbing the neck of MacGregor's shirt with one hand as they crashed down. Using their momentum, Billy swung his fist down, hearing a nauseating crunch as it connected with the man's nose. MacGregor flailed, punching any part of Billy he could reach, twisting and kicking wildly, clawing desperately at Billy's face and neck, but Billy barely even felt it. He balled his hands together, raised them above his head, and brought them crashing down onto the captain's face, over and over, again and again. Hot blood sprayed Billy's face, and small chunks of skin and flesh tore away from the captain, but he continued to rain blows down on the man with every ounce of strength he could muster. Billy's heavy arms began to burn with effort as he continued raining blows down on the man. He could feel the skin and muscle across his knuckles tearing away each time he struck, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All that mattered was the silent thrill he felt each time he struck the man beneath him. The only sounds in the hold now were the dull, heavy slaps of flesh connecting with flesh, the low grating cracks of breaking bone, and Billy's own labored breathing growing louder and louder. MacGregor gurgled sickeningly, now long dead, but Billy kept going. The crew watched in silence.

* * *

Hal Gates watched the steps leading down into the hold, his arms folded, waiting. Usually when faced with this stalemate, they would simply set fire to the ship to maintain their reputation, and be on their merry way, rather than risk the fight. Holed up below deck the way these sailors were, they had the advantage. The instant they heard men coming down into the hold, they might begin shooting, and even shooting blind through the walls and door, they'd hit too many men to justify the cost. However, the _Assurance_ was not a terribly large ship, they outnumbered her crew by a good enough margin, and Guthrie had mentioned she was crewed largely by impressment. In those cases, when they offered the crew the choice, they would typically surrender. Not to mention the fact was they were getting desperate to take a prize at this point, and not just for the money, but simply for whatever supplies the ship might have.

Gates glanced over at Flint, who was watching the steps intently. They couldn't hear very much of what was going on below, from where they stood. They had heard a single gunshot, and a man shouting something, then a pause and a few thuds. They hadn't heard anything more for a few minutes now. This, too, was not unexpected. It was likely a fight about whether or not to surrender. It went this way, sometimes. The captain and maybe the officers would want to resist, the crew would disagree, and perhaps rough them up a little in bringing the dissenters round to their way of thinking. Soon, the _Assurance_ 's captain would come limping up the stairs to discuss the terms.

As if on cue, there was a creak below, and then footsteps. A single man appeared, looking up the steps at them. In silence, he climbed the stairs, and approached them, standing directly in front of them as he stared down at Gates and Flint in turn. Things had taken a slightly different turn, it would seem. When he came close, Gates' nose was filled with the coppery tang of blood. The man was enormous, tall and heavily muscled. His shirt was torn in a few places, and his arms were red up to the elbows in glistening blood. The man's hands were flexing spasmodically. There was also blood spattered across the tall man's chest and face, and the red spray across his brow made his eyes seem all the more blue. As he looked the man up and down, Gates realized with a start that the bright spots he had thought were reflections of light on his knuckles were actually spots of bone peeking through his flesh. Squinting up at the man's face, Gates realized that the man was actually quite young. Really, he was practically a lad still, eighteen or nineteen at the very oldest. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "I'm here to discuss the terms of our surrender."

Gates looked at Flint, who glanced at him from the corner of his eye before flicking his gaze back to the man. Flint crossed his arms. "Where's the captain?" Gates raised his eyebrows at Flint at the question, doing his best not to betray his exasperation. It was pretty damn obvious what had happened down there. Flint did this sort of thing sometimes, asked a provoking or obvious question, just to see how a man would respond. However, this was a rather _large_ man to be antagonizing, even if he was young.

The young man didn't reply immediately. He simply looked at them, his face strangely calm. "I killed him," he said finally. His voice was still thick, as if he'd just woken up from a long sleep.

Flint nodded, as if the man had merely remarked on the weather instead of admitting to a murder. "And what are your terms?"

"You get the cargo. Crew gets to go home. No tortures, no marooning. No one else dies." His hands continued to twitch, but his voice gained strength as he spoke.

Flint and the sailor stood in silence for a moment, each meeting the other's stare. After a long moment, Flint spoke. "All weapons will be surrendered," Flint stated. The man offered no reaction, which Flint seemed to take as acquiescence. "Do any of your men know how to navigate?" The young man shrugged slowly, rolling his broad shoulders. "If not, you'll have to leave the _Assurance_ and sail with us to the nearest port. When we sail, your men will follow our rules, and obey me as captain. If they do not, they will be punished." Flint paused, looking for any reaction. There was none, so he continued. "We will also be asking if any of your men want to join our crew. Those that wish to will be allowed to do so without argument?" The man shrugged again. His hands were still twitching. "Very well," Flint stated. "We have an agreement. Go get your men."

Later, after they'd loaded all her cargo and sailors, they ended up setting fire to the _Assurance_. There hadn't been anyone left in her crew who knew how to navigate well enough for her crew to make their way to port on their own. Setting her ablaze was risky, with night falling, but leaving her adrift was riskier still, should a navy ship stumble upon her. An empty ship brought questions when found, and the navy didn't like unanswered questions. Some of her crew cheered to see her burn, but most simply watched in silence. Now, she was only an orange glow on the horizon, as night was falling. Walking up the port side of the _Walrus_ , Gates found the young man who had delivered the surrender, watching the other ship disappear into the distance. He was leaning on the railing, his height forcing him to bend nearly double to achieve it, his arms folded. The man had washed the blood from his arms and face, but the smell of it still lingered.

Walking up to stand beside the man, Gates said nothing, waiting to see if he would speak first. The young man simply stared out across the water, toward the _Assurance_. "What's your name, lad?" Gates asked. The man's eyes flicked over to Gates. He looked him up and down, and Gates smiled up at him in as friendly a manner as he could muster.

The man's eyes remained suspicious. "William," he finally rumbled in reply, before adding, "Billy." He swung his gaze back out to sea.

Gates didn't press for his surname. Some men were touchy about that. "Hal Gates," he replied. "Quartermaster of the _Walrus_." He leaned on the railing next to the man, watching the orange glow fading over the horizon. Billy didn't look at him, so Gates continued in a friendly manner. "We've a surgeon on our crew," he said. "He can see to your hands. They'll need some tending if they're to heal up properly." Still, no reply. "What was your position, Billy?"

Billy's face twitched, but stilled again, quickly. He didn't look at Gates when he spoke. "Bosun's mate."

Gates nodded. The lad seemed a decent sort, and they were still short handed. "Our bosun could use a mate, you know. Name's Randell. I've sailed with him for years. He's a fine sailor, knows what he's about. Could teach you a lot, if you're keen."

Straightening, Billy finally turned and looked at him. His expression was strange, sad and pained and lost. Once again, Gates was struck by how young Billy still was. When faced with a man Billy's size, it was an easy thing to forget. "I _murdered_ Captain MacGregor, you know," Billy said roughly.

Gates didn't look away from the young man's fierce gaze. He blinked, and raised his eyebrows, frowning a bit and tilting his head as he responded. "Aye, you said that earlier." Billy's eyes narrowed, and Gates thought it best to go on. "We read the manifest. We know you and most of the others were pressed into service. When given a chance at freedom, you did what you had to. Most any man would've done the same, in your place."

Billy shook his head, his lip curled. "I didn't have to kill him. I had him down with the first blow. I wasn't defending myself, or anyone else at that point. I wasn't scared or out of control. I did it because I _wanted_ to. I _murdered_ him."

Gates took a deep breath before he spoke. Circumstances had led this young man down a road he never saw coming, and Gates truly understood how that felt. "There aren't all that many men who set out to become pirates, lad. Some do, true enough, but most of us just, well, slide into it, more or less." Gates kept his voice quiet and even as he spoke. "Something happened, and the life we'd expected just... wasn't there anymore. Our wars ended, our crops failed, we did something we shouldn't have; everyone has a different story, but really they're all the same. Something went wrong along the way, and the rest of society left us behind, or cast us aside when she no longer needed us. If you ask me, the ones that do choose this life are just running away, same as the rest of us. We don't have anyone else, so we look after each other. We become brothers, in a way."

Billy suddenly pointed to the fading glow of the _Assurance_ , his face furious. The young man was almost trembling now. It seemed to Gates as though something had burst within him, and words began pouring out of him uncontrollably. "Three _years_ I was on that ship. Three years, and all I ever thought about was going home, seeing my family again. My father, my mother, my brothers. I _dreamed_ about it. Every. Single. Night." Billy dropped his arm. As he spoke, Gates saw the man's eyes were wet. "But now? After what I've done? I _can't_."

Gates felt his throat go tight at the anguished expression on the lad's face. He reached up and clapped the boy's shoulder with his heavy hand. "It's a terrible thing, taking another man's life," Gates said, his own voice almost as rough as Billy's. "It _changes_ you, and I'm sorry to say there's no going back to who you were before." Gates sighed heavily, wishing there was something more comforting he could say, but knowing there simply wasn't. Billy watched him, his dark blue eyes still glistening in the dark. "But just because you can't go back, doesn't mean you can't go forward, either." The glow of the _Assurance_ was gone now, and they were left with nothing but the moonlight. Billy's eye were intense as he looked at the quartermaster. "I won't pretend we could ever replace what you've lost," he added quietly. "But you're welcome to come with us, all the same. You've got a chance to live, and take back at least a little of what those fuckers stole from you. You'll be our brother, too." Gates did his best to smile at the lad, but knew the effort looked sad. Of all the men he had recruited over the years, Gates found himself thinking that this young man before him might deserve this way of life the least.

Billy looked down, sniffed, and wiped his face, wincing when he flexed his hands. Slowly, the young man nodded. Gates let his arm fall. "C'mon, lad. Let's get those hands of yours seen to."

Later, Gates left the lad with Dr. Howell, and headed to Flint's cabin. He reported that three sailors from the _Assurance_ had agreed to join the crew, including Billy the boatswain's mate. Flint agreed to the recruits, though Gates had had no doubt that he would. They needed able men, and as far as Flint was concerned, if they could walk, they should be able enough. The captain had the log open in front of him, and flipped it around for Gates to record their new mates' names and positions. Gates paused after writing the second sailor's information. He'd never gotten Billy's surname. He frowned at the page, aware that Flint was waiting. He remembered the young man's battered hands suddenly, the bloody tears across his knuckles, and put the quill to the page again. Quickly, he blew on the writing to dry the ink, reading the list of names over again before turning the log back over for the captain. The last name read "Billy Bones."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on the fourth chapter of Look Up. In the meantime, here's this. Kind of wish I'd named Look Up something else now, it'd suit this better.


End file.
